


Danse de Caractère

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Episode: s01e18 Scheherazade, Gen, Joyful, Malcolm Bright will be all right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Malcolm does have some joy in his life.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020





	Danse de Caractère

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cozy_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_coffee/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
> 
> **Notes:** written for cozy_coffee for the prompt of Any, any, doing something that brings you pure joy and for the all bingo prompt of dancing in the rain. Set immediately after episode 18 _Scheherazade_

Malcolm desperately needed to clear his head. His world had begun to feel eschew. His mother having drinks with Endicott. Gil acting weird. Eve tossing him like week old trash. The girl in the box being potentially alive. Malcolm couldn’t process any of it. He’d tried to sleep it off but was monkey-minded straight out of bed. Worry over Endicott and his mother wasn’t about to let him sleep so he poked at that for a while, sorting his emotions.

Realizing he hadn’t liked seeing his mother with Endicott even before his father’s horrifying reveal, Malcolm pondered why it bothered him. His mother had been very lonely for a very long time, leading to a laser-like focus on the lives of her children, sometimes to the point of being overbearing. She deserved to be happy so why had it bothered him? Had he sensed something dark underlying Endicott’s suave veneer? Maybe, especially seeing how he had treated Gil. And now he realized why Gil had been acting strangely. He was jealous, not of the money – no, he’d been faced with the Milton family fortune for twenty years - but of the attention his mother received from Endicott. It slowly occurred to him Jackie had been gone for years now, and Gil was just as lonely. Hoo, boy, he wasn’t prepared for this turn of events.

Malcolm cast a glance at his bed. Nope, he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon and there wasn’t much he could do about Endicott and that whole mess at this time of night. What he needed was to do something to relax himself. Malcolm sifted through the things that would help him. His phone didn’t ring with a new case so he had to pick something else. With a faint smile, he knew what he could do, something that brought him pure joy even though he kept it to himself, something that this last case had reminded him of.

As he pushed some furniture around to clear space, he wondered why he had never told Gil about this part of his life. Probably because of foolish ideas that it wasn’t ‘masculine’ enough, which said more about the toxic masculinity he’d adsorbed from school bullies and years of marinating in it at boarding school. Gil was pretty much the opposite of toxicity and had been Malcolm’s teenaged mirror for what being masculine meant. However, Malcolm had never confessed his love of dance. It was dumb because male dancers were strong and as athletic as hell. One of the reasons Malcolm kept up with it in his own way was not only did it bring him joy, it kept him in great shape. JT kidded him about being skinny not knowing under his suits, Malcolm was toned to within an inch of his life.

He pulled on his yoga clothes and dug deep into the closet to find where he hid his dance shoes. They were showing deep signs of wear, a bit crackly as he slipped his feet into them. They’d need replaced. He might have quit lessons years ago but he’d kept dancing by himself and had never forgotten anything he’d learned. Truly he _shouldn’t_ have stood his mother up. He loved watching ballet. 

On the cleared floor space he warmed up with stretches and _passes_ before alternating _pliés_ with _releves_ until he felt loose. From there he mixed _pliés_ with _sautes_ , his feet slapping the floor as he landed each leap. Content he was sufficiently warmed, he turned on the music to _Le Corsaire_ , one of his favorites as a child. He’d been a normal boy once and had his ‘pirates are cool’ moments and this ballet fit into that. He wondered what Lord Byron would have thought of the ballet set to his poem.

Malcolm couldn’t remember all the choreography, of course, so he made up some of his own following the music’s lead. The _fouettes_ reminded him quickly to keep up his spotting techniques so his spinning wouldn’t make him dizzy. Years of yoga had made _arabesques_ into easy things. He launched into the much more difficult _grande pirouettes à la seconde_ each turn of the _pirouette_ interspersed with a _demi-plié_ , giving his knees a work out that he wasn’t sure they were entirely up to. He needed to do this more often. He’d forgotten how good it felt.

He judged the room he had in his small space and added a few careful _jetes_ into his routine as something played counterpoint to his music. What was that? Trying to ignore it, Malcolm plotted his circle and executed a _coupé jeté en tournant_ , his body stretching and sweating as he leapt around the imaginary circle. Malcolm lost himself in the _Danse de caractère_. He was the best damn corsair around. He imagined the smell of salt air as he all but flew around the ‘deck’ of his ship.

He was in the middle of a _tour en l'air_ , thrilling to the strength of his body as he twisted mid-air when he identified the strange sound. Rain pounded his windows. Grinning like a boy, he turned off his music and grabbed the old water proof MP3 player he had for when he’d jog back in D.C. He picked up the keys from their hanger and went up to the roof of his mother’s building. She paid someone to maintain a beautiful garden up there and he often went there to practice his yoga when the mornings were good.

Malcolm switched from ballet to waltzes as he put on his earphones. He spun along the paths in the garden, rain coursing down his face. The music pulled him out of himself, out of his worries and fears. For a moment, he was free. He shouldn’t let so much time go by without him dancing. He needed to stop forgetting how much joy it gave him. One day he’d have someone to dance in the rain with but until then Malcolm could be content with dancing on his own. The cold rain took away the steam the ballet had generated in his muscles, leaving him feeling almost ethereal like a ghost waltzing among the herbs and shrubs. He was soaked to the skin by the time he finally retreated to his loft. 

He dried off and curled up in bed ready to sleep soundly. No dreams tonight, he thought as he dropped off, unless they’re of a _pas de deux_ with the partner of his dreams.


End file.
